my love is destructive like the eerie
line between shadow & light – the fragile moment as one slips into the
other, as there is a soft thud, a sudden quick balance – & then it
dissolves into its tones. If one would mistake light for tranquility, i’d turn
it into soaring despair for the bright moment, like staring intently at the
sun. and darkness does not subdue it because it is as if someone was plunging
into coffee (the one served by machines in the underground, tasteless,
mediocre).

the in-between is therefore physically
painful – merging the stark differences does not turn them into delicate
balance. my love is destructive like waking up to empty streets & crowded
skies – senseless and beautiful. it is like threading slowly and carefully on
an imaginary tightrope – falling half hour and bruising your knees.

the line between shadow & light is
the same between colourless drabs & synesthesia. you cannot overcome it. it
crushes everything like the wave hits the sand – & my love is as destructive as the
moment a wave breaks.

5. He’s interrupted by a handsome man from
another table who asks if he can cut in. She accepts, of course, and waltzes
off to an orchestra of cutlery, side-plates, strummed napkins and warm bread.
He seethes, turns bald and tells the story to every man he meets.

13. They have 3 children. Some night, she tells
them (again) how their father won her heart over chicken gyoza and ebi katsu.
Whenever he hears this, something in him rises like a bull-chested spinnaker.